Learning to Run in the Dark

I have been cleaning up the basement and ripping out that nasty carpet that my ex would never get rid of, and I finally found my journal from last fall.

And, I found something I wrote that I love. I’m going to quote it, word for word.

November 28, 2016

I ran this weekend.

Seventy miles. Seventy. Miles. Covered 69 laps of Sunset Lake (trail), on foot, all me, my own power. Through the night, through the dark. And I learned a lot.

I learned that running in the dark is scary and awesome. After only a few laps I ditched my headlamp. At first it was to see how far into the darkness, into the unknown, that I could go, before feeling I needed my light. Here’s what happened: I went all the way through the darkest part of the trail. And then again. And as I went around I began to realize the dark part of the trail was becoming my favorite part of the trail. Running in darkness is different. You know you have to pick up your feet, and you have to trust where they will fall. You run in faith. I began to realize I run faster, better, there in the darkness.

It was cold. I got sleepy. I felt awful. Things got worse. And then … they didn’t. I said a few words to a friend, a few words to a stranger. I woke up more. I felt better. And realized that I had assumed the awful way I was feeling was a permanent state, more or less — that I would feel that way for the rest of the run. But things changed.

They always do.

Lesson: never assume that any way you are feeling is permanent, or even necessary. Choose better things, better feelings.

I got tired. I felt the tiredness, consuming me. But I thought: I will do this much, and then a little more. And I did. You can always do more than you think you can do. You can always find resources you never suspected within yourself.

I got rid of reasons. I created a new story around myself. I saw results.

This translates into what I’m trying to do with my life: push a little further. Do a little more. Be a little better than I already knew I could be.